


Breathless

by SharkAria



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Complete, Drabble and a Half, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkAria/pseuds/SharkAria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Baratheon’s corporate-sponsored birthday bash was as much of a bacchanal as Sansa expected it to be.  The company conference room had been transformed into a garish party venue with an infestation of black and yellow streamers, red and gold stage lighting, tables overflowing with appetizers and battalions of employees wailing their way through a karaoke contest.  The aging boss, red faced behind his thick beard, reigned over the celebration with his secretary on his lap and a whole bottle of champagne in his fist.</p><p>She just barely heard a hoarse voice behind her, over the screech of singers.  'What a bunch of bloody brainless idiots.'</p><p>Totally complete two-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You may recognize the first chapter of this from one of my "Seven and Two" shorts that came from sansaxoldmenweek on tumblr. Some commenters at the time indicated that they'd like to see a little continuation, and that's what this is (particularly the second chapter). This is basically a silly little two-shot to get the juices flowing on my two big ongoing fics right now. Enjoy!

Mr. Baratheon’s corporate-sponsored birthday bash was as much of a bacchanal as Sansa expected it to be. The company conference room had been transformed into a garish party venue with an infestation of black and yellow streamers, red and gold stage lighting, tables overflowing with appetizers and battalions of employees wailing their way through a karaoke contest. The aging boss, red faced behind his thick beard, reigned over the celebration with his secretary on his lap and a whole bottle of champagne in his fist.

Everyone was plastered. Even Sansa, who wasn’t usually much of a drinker, was rocking on her feet with her brain in a haze. She stood still near the area that had been commandeered as the performance stage, fearful that if she tried to walk she would trip in her peeptoe pumps and give her coworkers another reason to titter behind her back. 

When she had first been hired, she had thought Robert’s famous festivities would be the best part about working here; now she wished for the clock to strike the hour when it would be polite to leave.

She just barely heard a hoarse voice behind her, over the screech of singers. “What a bunch of bloody brainless idiots.”

It was Sandor, that big, gruff, scar-faced security guard who always walked Sansa back to her car when she worked late. He scowled down at her, beer in hand, his breath heavy with the scent of just about every type of alcohol that was being served tonight. He was clearly so drunk that he could barely keep his balance. 

Sansa laughed, louder and more shrilly than she meant to. Sandor was always so sarcastic and rude, and his demeanor had once intimidated her before she got used to him, but tonight his words just seemed funny. She looked around the room at all the wasted colleagues who should have been her teammates but constantly acted like her competitors, who were always trying to sabotage her, and she realized she agreed with him. She nodded her chin in agreement and smiled shyly, feeling terribly irreverent, making fun of her superiors at their very own party. But she also felt powerful, sharing this secret with the man who most employees were afraid of.

Sandor smirked and swayed on his feet. He leaned down toward her and slurred, sounding like there were marbles in his mouth, “You know, you’re the only one of them all I can stand.” 

Sansa giggled nervously. She hadn’t been expecting Sandor to say that, and she was pretty sure that it wasn’t the alcohol alone causing her cheeks to suddenly feel hot. She gazed up at him through her eyelashes, trying to figure out what to say, but as she opened her mouth she hiccupped loudly and ungracefully. 

Now her whole face burned with shame. As she tried to cover her mouth with her hand, she sloshed her drink onto Sandor’s shirt. “Oh, forgive me, forgive me!” she cried, impossibly mortified, and grabbed him by the hand and dragged him out of the loud conference room toward the break room. Sandor stumbled along behind her compliantly, gazing down at his wet clothes as though he hadn’t quite processed what had just happened. 

The break room was dark and quiet, and in her drunkenness Sansa couldn’t find the light switch. Sandor leaned against the doorway, barely managing to stay upright, his huge frame blocking out most of the light from the hallway. Sansa fumbled around for paper towels, and, finally feeling the roll on the counter, took a huge wad and clumsily patted at Sandor’s chest. “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled.

When Sansa finally looked up at Sandor through her haze of embarrassment and alcohol, she was surprised to find how close his face was to hers, and before she knew what was happening, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, and when he broke away Sansa felt more than just drunk, she felt like she couldn’t breathe at all, and even in the dim light she could see that Sandor was staring down at her with his intense grey eyes and she realized, belatedly, that maybe he liked her more than just being able to stand being in her presence, and that maybe she felt the same way.

And then Sandor stepped back, quickly, and lurched down the hall out of sight. Sansa blinked and shook her head, dumbfounded.

When she finally got some of her senses back, she searched the party for him, but she was not able to find him inside. 

Disappointed, Sansa sighed and texted her sister to get a ride home. She resolved to stay late on Monday so that Sandor would walk her out to her car again. But the next time she saw him, she wouldn’t let him run off like he had tonight. It would be her turn to take his breath away.

*_*_*_*_*


	2. Chapter 2

SanSan Breathless II

by SharkAria

*_*_*_*_*_*

Sandor stared at his security camera feeds, watching grainy images of caterers unloading food trays and feeling grumpy about having to stay late for Robert’s pointless party without getting overtime pay for his efforts, when company CEO heir apparent and unrelenting little shit Joffrey Baratheon approached his desk. 

Sandor jerked his chin up in a gruff greeting. The youngster wouldn’t have troubled himself to come down to the first floor if he didn’t need something, or if he didn’t want to gloat about something appalling. Joffrey was under the misimpression that he and Sandor were something of work friends, and from time to time the boy would make a special trip to Sandor’s control center to brag about his conquests in the secretarial pool or his successes with clients. Sandor was no kiss-ass, but neither was he stupid enough to correct Joffrey’s faulty understanding of their relationship. After all, Joffrey’s father issued Sandor’s paychecks.

Joffrey leaned an elbow against the high desk with the misplaced swagger of a powerful person who had never needed to prove his own abilities. “My little assistant Sansa Stark is sweet and kind and pretty as could be, but as an employee she isn’t working out. She’s getting the pink slip on Monday,” Joffrey confided with a gleam in his eye. “Make sure you’re prepared to escort her off the premises after I notify her.”

 

Sandor nodded, his face neutral -- well, as neutral as it could be, with the horrifying burns, anyway -- but his stomach churned. The girl had lasted six months longer than any of Joffrey’s other assistants, which was why Sandor had eventually bothered to learn her name. And once he had gotten used to her uncomfortable politeness, he hadn’t even found her to be that annoying anymore. But Joffrey was being especially cruel and petty by making Sandor kick her out, as it would imply that she was some kind of security risk. The notion was ridiculous. Sansa Stark was one of the most timid people Sandor had ever met in this line of work.

“What’d the girl do?” Sandor grunted, trying to sound utterly bored, as though he didn’t care one bit what happened to Sansa. _You_ don’t _care what happens to the girl_ , he reminded himself.

“I recently learned that her brother works for a competitor, which she somehow ‘failed’ to disclose that in the interview!” Joffrey revealed, using air quotes with his long, skinny fingers. “She’s probably been feeding him company secrets. Either that or she’s just unbelievably stupid. Either way, I’m not going to put my reputation on the line for her.”

Sandor shrugged and yawned. “It’s a tough business. She won’t make a scene if I stand over her while she cleans out her desk,” he muttered as casually as he could manage. “Monday, you said? Why not right now?”

Joffrey smirked. “She’s training her replacement right now, not that the little airhead realizes what she’s doing. And besides, it will be a laugh to see her standing alone at the party tonight, wondering why nobody’s talking to her.” Joffrey snorted, and when Sandor didn’t join in, the youth’s pointy face darkened; he was clearly uncertain as to whether he should have revealed so much to a lowly guard. “Not that any of this should matter to you. You’d do well to remember that it’s not your place to question my directives, Clegane.”

“You’re the boss,” Sandor agreed, and Joffrey seemed mollified. The scrawny little brat loved being called “boss”, even though his father Robert was the true authority. Joffrey turned around and stalked out of the room, and Sandor sneered at his back. It was unfair for the boy to force poor Sansa to attend an insufferable company function right before canning her, but it was exactly the kind of thing that Joffrey and his hideous family would do. 

Sandor didn’t want to go to the stupid party any more than most of his co-workers did, but the bad news enraged him, and at least there would be copious quantities of free booze to dull his anger. He glanced at the clock in the corner of the computer screen. Another hour and he’d be expected to join the rest of his fellow employees in the “celebration.” 

Also, he would see Sansa one more time before Monday, when she would walk out of the building and Sandor’s life forever, probably wiping tears from her pink cheeks and thinking Sandor was the meanest of them them all. _Stop lying to yourself,_ Sandor thought angrily. _She already thinks that._

*_*_*_*_*

He was already three shots and half a dozen beers into the night by the time he finally caught sight of the doomed girl clutching a glass in her hand, standing near the stage with the karaoke singers and apparently trying to blend with the crowd, as though she could ever do that. She was all trussed up in a little skirt and blouse combo and some stacked up heels that gave her several inches over most of the men in the room. She looked almost as drunk and uncomfortable as Sandor felt.

The girl’s bewildered expression reminded Sandor of how she had looked the first time he had seen her walking out to the building’s parking lot late at night. Employees had recently been mugged out there; Sandor had sent the company-wide email around himself warning everyone. He had caught up to her and admonished her, resentful of the fact that she clearly hadn’t paid attention to his missive, but he had walked her to her car all the same, and after that whenever she’d left the office after her coworkers she had seemed to make a point of passing his desk so that he could make sure that she was safe. Sometimes she would try to talk to him and ask him about his day, as though she cared, trying to be pleasant. Sometimes she would stay quiet, with unfallen tears wetting her eyes, and Sandor knew that Joffrey had been acting like even more of a turd than usual.

Sandor almost felt sorry for her not knowing what would happen on Monday, although she should have expected this kind of treatment from the Baratheons. _Kindness won’t help you fight back against all the assholes in this world,_ he had told her once when he opened her car door for her, and she had probably thought he was talking about the muggers in the parking lot, not of her bosses too.

Sandor felt his feet moving forward before his brain had fully authorized that decision. And then he was standing behind her, towering over her, and he said something churlish about the singers, and she turned around and smiled which he didn’t expect -- no, she even laughed, which he really hadn’t expected. It threw him off. She was usually so perfectly predictable with her pleasantries. Maybe she had some inkling of her impending dismissal; after all, Joffrey had never been much of one for discretion. Or maybe she was just blitzed out of her skull.

The poor girl was going to get kicked out of this place and think that everyone here hated her without cause. Sandor knew how that felt. “You’re the only one of them all that I can stand,” he thought, but when her eyes widened he realized he must have said the words out loud.

She laughed at the expression on his face and spilled a drink on him, and in his slowed reaction he was still staring down at the wet spot on his shirt when, inconceivably, she grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the big conference room. Sandor’s brain was still trying to work out just what was happening when the pretty drunk doomed girl was dabbing at the stain on his shirt with a wad of paper towels and mumbling apologies. 

So this would be the last time he would see the girl before she was fired. The knowledge rankled him. He wanted to help her, even though Joffrey would be wroth if he ever found out. _Joffrey can go fuck himself,_ the booze said to Sandor, and he felt nothing but agreement. Maybe he could warn her, and if Sansa gave her notice on Monday morning, she wouldn’t have to worry about telling future prospective employers that she got fired. He should let her know now while she was touching him, looking up into his face guilelessly and clearly no longer paying attention to his burns. He opened his mouth to tell her. 

Instead, he kissed her.

It lasted for a hundred years, or three seconds, or somewhere in between before he realized the terrible thing he was doing. The girl stood there, too shocked, or more likely too afraid to move. Shame engulfed Sandor and he broke away and stumbled down the hall. He wanted to turn around to see if she was looking at him, but he couldn’t bear to see the hatred and fear that was surely reflected in her eyes.

Sandor passed his darkened work station in the lobby and shuffled out the glass-paneled front doors, into the unsafe parking lot that he had warned Sansa about so many times. The asphalt was still damp from the rain earlier today, and the fresh smell covered the rottenness that Sandor knew to exist within the building. A streetlamp illuminated his truck on the far side of the lot, but it looked oddly fuzzy. He rubbed his face with his hands and opened his eyes. There was no change. Of course there wouldn’t be. He was clearly too drunk to drive home.

Sandor sank his great bulk down to the curb and heaved a great sigh and stared up at the black sky. He had fucked up twice over -- first, he had managed to give Sansa a weird drunken kiss, and then he had failed even to tell her what she needed to know so that she could escape Joffrey’s cruelty. Self-loathing was a familiar experience for Sandor, but he felt it more acutely at this moment than he had for a long time.

Behind him, he heard the doors open and a pair of heels clicking on the concrete walkway. The party couldn’t already be winding down, could it? But then it was just one person. One person who approached him and put a small warm hand on his big shoulder. “What was that about?” Sansa asked him quietly.

In spite of the air’s chill, Sandor’s entire body felt as though it were boiling in liquid shame. “Don’t think on it, girl. It was the booze,” he replied, turning his face as far as possible in the other direction.

He heard her shifting around a bit, and then he could feel her sitting next to him, her shoulder touching his. He didn’t dare turn toward her, but he looked down at his hands, catching a glimpse of her in his peripheral vision. 

“Oh,” She cleared her throat as she picked at her fingernails. “Just the alcohol?” she asked, and Sandor wasn’t sure if she was mocking him, or if she was simply letting him know that she could see right through his excuses, or if he was imagining that there was an undercurrent of disappointment flowing through her voice.

He couldn’t right the first wrong of kissing her, but at least he could warn her about her job, like he had been planning originally. He leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees. “I was just being a bloody idiot, as usual, just thinking how I won’t see you again.” He finally looked at her then, and saw only confusion in her expression.

“What do you mean?”

“Joffrey’s going to fire you,” he muttered, and summarized the little blonde brat’s plans for her.

Sandor kept expecting her eyes to well up with tears, or for her to accuse him of lying to cover up his embarrassment over kissing her, but instead she just stared off in the general direction of where their cars were parked. “That explains why Joffrey insisted that I teach Margaery the new computer system today instead of next week,” she said with a resigned sigh.

Sandor finally looked her full in the face, his own confusion causing his good eyebrow to raise. “Aren’t you angry?”

“Well . . . I should be, I suppose,” Sansa replied. “But this is a really awful job, you know. I’ve been applying elsewhere, looking for a way out. Getting fired in the middle of a job search would have made finding a new place difficult, but if I resign it won’t be such a problem.” She looked down at her hands, which were clutching the hem of the skirt against her legs so that she would not appear immodest. “Thank you for helping me escape this place, Sandor.” Even in the dim parking lot lights, Sandor could see the red rising to her cheeks.

“Uh huh,” he grunted, feeling minimally better for the assistance he had provided, yet also hollowed out, knowing now that Sansa would be gone from his life for good.

She stood carefully and smoothed her skirt down her thighs. She put her hand out to him, as if offering to help him get up, as if she could possibly pull someone his size off the ground. He couldn’t help but smirk at her courtesies never leaving her, even when they were worse than useless. He rose by himself, but took her hand anyway.

She gave him a shy smile and didn’t let go of his hand, even when he was standing directly in front of her and clearly didn’t need any more help. “Apparently I’m free on Monday,” she said, almost playfully. “Are you?”

Sandor glared down at her hand in his, then back at her smile, feeling confused and suspicious. Did she need something more from him? “After work, yes. Why?”

Sansa’s smile faltered. “I thought -- since you k--” She broke off and looked down at the ground, and Sandor’s embarrassment from earlier returned forcefully. “I thought you might want to go out. On a date.” Her chin was practically against her chest, and her cheeks were so red that they almost blended in with her hair. 

Sandor blinked, feeling off balance both mentally and physically. “Uh --”

“Only if you want to,” Sansa added. “You already did so much for me, so please don’t feel obligated --”

 _Obligated?_ Was she crazy? He took her free hand in his and squeezed gently. “Of course we can go out. On a --” Sandor blinked again, the word he was about to say tasting foreign on his tongue, “-- date.”

She smiled up into his face, and Sandor felt somehow more drunk looking at her now than he did an hour earlier, when he had been knocking back shots. She seemed to be waiting for something, though, and placed her hands lightly on his chest. “May I please kiss you again before Monday?” she asked.

Sandor smirked at the cordiality of her request and gathered her in his arms. “Such a pretty little bird, always chirping your courtesies,” he mumbled against her lips, feeling like he could laugh and fly at the same time. She relaxed in his arms and gave him a rather less chaste kiss than the one from a few minutes earlier.

They were well into an open-mouthed kiss, with their bodies pressed up close together, and Sandor’s hand at the small of Sansa’s back slowly slipping down lower, when they heard the unmistakable thrum of a beater car pulling up next to the curb. Sansa broke away first and adjusted her clothes.

The driver, a young man with dark unkempt hair and a scruffy attempt at a goatee, hung out the open window. He was wearing a ratty brown shirt that might have been from a package delivery service uniform. “There you are," he muttered, eying Sandor's scars warily. "You Starks could learn a thing or two about holding your liquor.”

Sandor ogled the brat right back. Let him look at the burns. So long as they didn't bother Sansa, they didn't matter so much to him anymore.

“Gendry,” Sansa said, obviously dismayed. “Where’s Arya?”

“Don't worry, she's fine. She picked up an extra shift and begged me to come get you. Girl's lucky to have a boyfriend like me, no?” 

Sansa laughed and squeezed Sandor's hand. 

The boy named Gendry gave Sandor another sour look. "What about your -- er -- friend?”

“He needs a ride too. Right?" She met Sandor's eyes, and he swore he saw hope in her face. 

Sandor nodded gratefully. He hoped that a gallon of water and some ibuprofen came with the ride.

Sansa approached the car and Sandor followed like the obedient dog he was. She looked back at him and added, "You could even sleep on our couch tonight.”

 _Will you be on it, too?_ Sandor thought. His buzz must have been wearing off, though, because he managed to hold those words back. But Sansa must have seen something of his thoughts in his eyes, because she changed course to scrunched herself up in the back seat with him.

"Ready to go?" Gendry asked as Sandor and Sansa buckled their seat belts.

Sansa placed her hand lightly on Sandor's knee and gave him a sweet little smile filled with promise. Sandor felt like he couldn't breathe, in the best possible way. "We're ready," she replied, the light dancing in her eyes.

*_*_*_*_*

[The end]


End file.
